by Gene Williams

A part of me is drawn toward
A Walker Colt and a Wallace sword
I find my thoughts will often go
To Stirling Bridge and the Alamo
I’m carried there as time rewinds
Through all my fathers’ minds

My mothers’ fathers–Highland men–
They never knew my fathers’ kin
Those ones who claimed then tamed the land
From the Powder to the Rio Grande
Warriors all of different kinds
Here in my fathers’ minds

They’ll not be found in stately ranks
Somewhere on Jordan’s yonder banks
Instead I sense that all around
Their campfires glow from higher ground
I am the thread that intertwines
Through all my fathers’ minds